Gale's Hunger Games
by Pigy190
Summary: The Hunger Games  Book One  in Gale's Point of view. Very detailed. Uses dialogue from the book. *Non Peeta bashing* Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

**Story:** Gale's Hunger Games

**By:** Pigy190

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games and all characters and words (including the ones copied for this story) belong to Suzanne Collins. No copy right infringement is intended. This story is purely for fun and fan fiction.

**Summary:** The Hunger Games (Book One) from Gale's Point of view. Follows the book and uses all of the same dialogue. *Non-Peeta bashing*

**A/N:** I've been reading a bunch of fan fiction, a while a few people have done something like this, most of them either didn't use the same dialogue, or skimmed over most of the book. I decided to go into detail. I've been re-reading the book while writing this story. Using Suzanna Collins's dialogue and descriptions.

Yes, I am Team Gale. While I like Peeta, I just don't see Katniss settling down with a guy trying to kill her every so often. Peeta's hijacking was the nail in the coffin for me.

I do not have a Beta for this, so all mistakes are my own. I am however, very much open to having a beta, I'm just wayy to lazy to find one right now (It's 4am. Last time I checked it was 2. Holy crap I need to sleep… My one month old daughter is not going to let me live this down tomorrow…) If you would like to beta for me, just message me.

**A/N 2:** I had this Beta'd through Project Team Beta and have re-written parts of it. Thank you wandofhawthorne and My-Heart-Of-Music for being awesome betas! I'm currently having the second chapter beta'd.

Sorry if you thought this was an update. I just watched the Hunger Games movie (LOVE) so I have more ideas to write. Chapter three should be done soon.

**Chapter One**

As soon as I wake up a feeling of dread takes over me. I'm expecting it, since it's reaping day, but it's worse than I remember from last year. This year, I know something bad is going to happen. I will have 42 tickets with my name on them ready to be picked by Effie Trinket, the manically upbeat woman who arrives once a year to read out the names at the reaping. I shake off the feeling and get out of bed quietly, slipping on my boots. My mother, brothers and sister are still asleep. I glance outside and see that I'm up earlier than usual. I decide to go ahead and get a head start.

Outside my house, in our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, mine workers are usually getting ready to head towards the mine, but since its reaping day everyone is sleeping in, if they can. I live in the middle of the Seam, almost equidistant from the Square and the Meadow. I slip quietly through the streets. When I get to the Meadow, I glance around, looking for anyone who might be out. Of course, I am one of the few people up this early on reaping day, and one of two that would come to this area. I tilt my head, listening for the hum of the electric fence that separates the Meadow and the woods. The high chain-link fence is topped with barbed-wire loops and is supposed to be electrified twenty-four hours a day to keep out the predators that live in the woods—packs of wild dogs, lone cougars, bears—and used to threaten our streets. We're lucky to get three hours of electricity in the evenings, which means the fence is rarely electrified and usually safe to touch. Since it's silent, I squeeze through the two-foot stretch concealed by a clump of bushes that's been loose for years.

As soon as I'm in the woods, I grab my bow – the one I traded Katniss for my knowledge on snares all those years ago. I grin, remembering how I met her. I was out in the woods, checking my line, when I saw a thin, nearly starving girl checking out my one of my traps. I could tell from the dark hair that was braided down her back that she was from the Seam. I judged her to be no younger than 11 and no older than 14.

When she reached out to touch my snare I stepped out from where I was hiding and said, "That's dangerous." Her Seam grey eyes widened in fear and she drew back as I added the rabbit to my already full belt. "What's your name?"

"Catnip," the girl muttered.

"Well, Catnip, stealing is punishable by death," I told her. Of course, so is hunting and just being out in the woods, but I didn't mention that.

"Katniss," she said louder. "And I wasn't stealing. I was just looking at your snare, mine never catch anything."

"How'd you get that?" I asked, pointing at the squirrel she was holding.

"I shot it," she said, showing me her bow. My breath caught; I'd been wishing I had a weapon of some sort. All I had were snares and I'd figured those out by myself – I had no idea how to even make a bow; I was curious how such a tiny thing could make a weapon like that. I found out later her father had made it.

"Can I see that?" I asked. To my surprise she handed it over almost immediately. I was expecting her to scowl and say no.

"Just remember, stealing is punishable by death," she repeated my words from earlier, pulling a smile from me. A smile that took her months to return.

At that moment we decided to trade a bow for knowledge, though it took a long time before we stopped haggling over every trade and started helping each other. We slowly became best friends. Six months ago I realized I love her.

I shake my head, focusing on the hunt; I'm hoping to get a few squirrels so I can trade them for some bread before Katniss gets out here. After ten minutes I've only shot one squirrel, but I stash my bow again and head towards town. The baker pays the best for squirrel, as long as his witch of a wife isn't around, so I head there first. I casually walk by the front and glance inside. He is inside without her there. He looks up and sees me; I nod at him and then at my bag. He nods back and heads towards the back of his shop. I walk around quickly and meet him there, my squirrel already in hand.

"I only shot one this morning; I was hoping I could get something small for Katniss," I tell him.

The baker nods, takes the squirrel and goes inside. Usually such an act would make me nervous, but I know I can trust him to pay up—always. He comes back with a warm loaf of bread – much more than I ever expected him to give me. The bread is soft and warm, almost the complete opposite of the hard dry bread we make with our rations in the Seam.

"Good luck," he says and disappears.

I stand still for a minute, shocked. A door banging inside jolts me into action. The witch is coming; I turn and run until I'm out of sight. The last time she caught the baker buying squirrels we weren't able to sell to him for months.

I rush to our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. A thicket of berry bushes protects it from unwanted eyes. I spear the bread as a joke just as I hear Katniss' light tread behind me. I turn and face her, returning her smile. The only place she ever smiles is in the woods.

"Hey Catnip," I say. I still call her Catnip. After the misunderstanding that started our friendship a crazy lynx started following her around, sealing her nickname. She ended up shooting it because it was scaring off the game. I think she felt bad, but we got a decent price for its pelt so I never cared.

"Look what I shot." I hold up the bread.

Katniss laughs, a sweet sound I rarely get to hear. She takes the bread, pulls out the arrow and holds the puncture in the crush to her nose, inhaling. I grin, knowing my surprise made her happy on this awful day. "Mm, still warm," she says. "What did it cost you?"

"Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning," I tell her. "Even wished me luck."

"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" she says. I can almost feel her rolling her eyes in her head. "Prim left us a cheese." She pulls it out and I feel my expression brighten. She's made my day almost as much as I made hers.

"Thank you, Prim. We'll have a real feast," I say. I remember the blackberries around us. "I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" I pluck a few berries. "And may the odds—" I say in Effie's silly capitol accent as I toss a berry in a high arc towards her.

She catches the berry in her mouth, a small smile gracing her face when the berry bursts in her mouth. "—be _ever_ in your favor." The Capitol accent is so ridiculous almost anything sounds funny in it. It helps fight off the terror of reality to joke about it.

I pull out my knife and slice the bread; I can feel Katniss watching me. I know she is thinking of something she'd rather not share. She suddenly starts picking berries while I spread Prim's cheese on the bread slices and place a basil leaf on each. We settle into a nook in the rock. We just barely fit, side to side; the only time I get to touch Katniss. The view over the valley is amazing, but I'm busy watching her, trying to figure out what she's thinking of on such an awful day. When I look into the valley, with its blue sky and soft breeze, I think about running away again. Sure it would mean giving up things like bread from the baker, but I would rather be able to enjoy my time in the woods with Katniss, hunting for food without the Capitol hanging over our heads than have luxuries like soft bread.

"We could do it, you know," I voice out loud.

Katniss turns to me, confused. "What?" she asks.

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it." I know immediately I've said the wrong thing. Katniss goes stiff, uncomfortable. "If we didn't have so many kids," I add quickly.

They're not our kids exactly, but they might as well be. My siblings and Prim plus our mothers – they couldn't survive without us either. Even with both of us hunting daily, there are still nights when game has to be swapped for lard or shoelaces or wool, nights when we go to bed with our stomachs growling.

"I never want to have kids," she says. I'm not surprised. She never wants to get married, and in District 12 you don't have kids unless you're married. I'm still hoping to change her mind one day.

"I might. If I didn't live here," I say. And if they were hers.

"But you do," she says, obviously irritated.

"Forget it," I snap back. I feel like kicking myself. The conversation went all wrong. Another missed opportunity.

I've been trying to find the right time to tell her I'm in love with her since I realized it 6 months ago. I know she could never leave Prim. No more than I could ever leave my family, but that doesn't mean I don't wish for a different life. A life where I don't have to worry about the woman I love and my siblings being taken away while I'm forced to watch them die on a screen. After today I no longer have to worry about being reaped myself. I'm 18, this is my last reaping. But Katniss still has two more years to go. Prim, Vick, Rory, and Posy are all 12 and under. I push the thoughts away, worrying will do me no good. Either we'll get chosen or we won't.

"What do you want to do?" she asks.

"Let's fish at the lake. We can leave our poles and gather in the woods. Get something nice for tonight," I say.

After the reaping, we're supposed to celebrate. Most people do, but not for the reasons the Capitol wants. They want us to celebrate the Games, the history of Panem, the victory over the rebels during the dark days. We celebrate out of relief that our loved ones have been spared. But at least two families will pull their shutters, lock their doors, and try to figure out how they will survive the painful weeks to come.

We make out better than I thought we would. By late morning we have a dozen fish, a bag of greens, and a gallon of strawberries. The strawberry patch was Katniss', but I have the idea of stinging mesh nets around it to keep out the animals.

On our way home, we stop by the Hob, the black market of District 12 located in an abandoned warehouse that once held coal. When they started transporting the coal directly from the mine to the trains, the black market slowly took over the space. We trade six of the fish for good bread and the other two for salt. Greasy Sae, the old woman who sells bowls of hot soup, trades a couple of chunks of paraffin for half of our greens. We could probably do better somewhere else, but Greasy Sae is the only person we can count on to consistently buy wild dog. We don't hunt wild dog, but when they attack, meat is meat. People from the Seam will buy it when they can afford it, but the Peacekeepers can afford to be choosier.

When we finish at the market, we head to the Mayor's back door. He has a fondness for strawberries and can afford our price. Instead of the Mayor, his daughter, Madge, answers the door. I'm slightly surprised, until I remember it's reaping day and he probably has plenty to do and people to entertain. Madge is in Katniss' year at school. I've seen her around Katniss a bit in school, but being two years apart, Katniss and I don't really see each other much. Her usual drab school outfit has been replaced by an expensive white dress with pink ribbons in her hair. Her reaping clothes. Katniss and I won't be able to afford anything half as nice.

"Pretty dress," I say.

Madge looks at me, unsure if it was a genuine compliment or not. It was since it is a very pretty dress and she looks nice it in it. It wasn't because the dress probably cost more than anything Katniss and I will ever be able to buy. She finally presses her lips together and smiles.

"Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" she says.

I stare at her stunned. It's my turn to be unsure of the situation. I'm pretty sure she's messing with me though.

"You won't be going to the Capitol," I say coolly. My eyes catch on a small golden pin on her dress. A pin that could feed a family for months. "What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old."

"That's not her fault," Katniss says. I glance over to her and see she is unhappy with this conversation. Madge is the only other person I've seen her with besides Prim.

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is," I say trying to sound nicer.

Madge's face has become closed off and I know I've failed. I don't really care. She knows she won't get chosen and I most likely will. It may not be her fault, but she would never do anything to change it either. She gives Katniss the money for the berries. "Good luck, Katniss."

"You too," Katniss says and the door closes.

I try to shake off my anger as we walk back to the Seam in silence. I know Katniss is unhappy with the dig I took at Madge, but I couldn't help it. The reaping system is unfair and the poor get the worst of it. It all starts the day you turn twelve and become eligible. That year, your name is entered into the contest. Every year following you add one more entry. At age eighteen, the final year of eligibility, your name goes in the pool seven times. This goes for every citizen in the districts.

And to make things worse, there's a catch. If you're poor and starving you can opt to add your name on extra time for each member of your family to get tresserae. Each tresserae is worth a "year's" supply of grain and oil for one person. So at the age of twelve I entered my name six times, once as was mandatory and once for myself, my mom, Rory, Vick, and Posy. And because the entries are cumulative, my name will be in the pool forty-two times. Katniss will be in the pool twenty times. We have forbidden our younger siblings from taking tresserae. Though I know the rules were set up by the Capitol, not the districts or any wealthy person's family, it's hard not to resent those that have never had to take out tresserae.

I rant about it all the time to Katniss while we're in the woods. She's the only person I can talk to and the woods are the only place safe from the Capitol. I know my rage seems pointless to her, but Katniss isn't one to waste energy on something she deems pointless and yelling about the Capitol in the woods doesn't change anything. But she lets me do it anyway. Another reason I love her.

At our splitting point we divide what we have left, leaving two fish, a couple of loaves of good bread, greens, a quart of strawberries, salt, paraffin, and a bit of money for each.

"See you in the square," she says. The feeling of dread gets stronger.

"Wear something pretty," I say flatly. She takes off without another word.

At home I find my mother and siblings nearly ready to go. Rory is in my first reaping outfit while the others are in other old outfits of mine and Rory's. Posy is wearing a dress I seem to remember seeing on Prim years ago.

My mother has a tub of warm water waiting for me. I get in and quickly scrub off the woods, sweat, and sweet smell of Katniss. My mother has laid out one of my father's old dress outfits. I swallow hard, thinking of him. He taught me everything I know about snares. We used to spend time in the woods hunting together.

My mother is already cooking the fish and greens in a stew and put the bread and strawberries out of reach of my siblings. Those will be for the celebratory dinner tonight after the reaping. A dinner I most likely won't attend. For lunch we have some left over rabbit and hard Seam bread.

Lunch is fairly silent. Posy prattles on about what she and her friends did on their day off. They are too young to understand the horrors of what is really going on.

Rory looks like he's going to be sick. "Eat something," I tell him. "If you don't, it'll just be worse."

One o'clock comes faster than I'm ready for and we head out for the square. Attendance is mandatory unless you are dying. Peacekeepers will be checking each house later tonight to see if this is the case. If not, you'll be imprisoned.

People file in silently and sign in. The reaping is a good way for the Capitol to keep an updated census as well. Twelve-through-eighteen-year-olds are herded into a roped off areas marked by ages—oldest in the front, youngest in the back. Everyone else lines the perimeter, holding tightly to one another. Those that have nothing to lose, or no longer care, slip in among the crowd, taking bets on who will be chosen.

As the square fills up and gets tighter, I glance around. Cameras and screens are mounted everywhere to optimize the experience. Eventually the square is full and people are directed into adjacent streets where they can watch the reaping live as it's broadcasted to the entire country.

I nod at the other eighteen year olds around me before focusing on the stage set up in front of the Justice building. On it there are three chairs, a podium, and two large glass balls. One for the boy's; one for the girl's. One has "Katniss Everdeen" written on twenty slips and one has "Gale Hawthorne" written on forty-two slips.

Two of the three chairs hold Mayor Undersee, a tall, balding man, and Effie Trinket, District 12's escort, straight from the Capitol, sporting a freakishly white grin, pinkish hair, and a bright green suit. I can just imagine how much Posy loves her hair. They murmur to each other and look with concern at the empty seat.

When the clock strikes two, Mayor Undersee steps up to the podium and begins to read the same story he does every year. I'm surprised he hasn't memorized it. He tells of the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was one called North America. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, the brutal war for what little sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed with thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last standing tribute wins.

Taking the kids from our districts, forcing them to kill one another while we watch—this is the Capitol's way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy. How little chance we would stand of surviving another rebellion. Whatever words they use, the real message is clear: "Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there's nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District Thirteen."

To make it humiliating as well as torturous, the Capitol requires us to treat the Hunger Games as a festivity, a sporting event pitting every district against the others. The last tribute alive receives a life of ease back home, and their district will be showered with prizes, largely consisting of food. All year, the Capitol will show the winning district gifts of grain and oil and even delicacies like sugar while the rest of us battle starvation.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor.

Then he reads the list of past District 12 victors. In seventy-four years, we have had exactly two. Only on is still alive, Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers on to the stage, and falls into the third chair. He's drunk. The crowd responds with token applause, but he's confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off.

The mayor looks distressed. As usual, Haymitch has made District 12 the laughing stock of Panem—not that District 12 needs much help in that way. We are the poorest, dirtiest district of Panem—and he knows it. HaymitchHe tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket.

Bright and bubbly as ever—I swear that woman doesn't know how to be anything but—Effie trots to the podium and give her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor." She goes on a bit about how honored she is to be here though we all know she wants to get bumped up to a district with proper victors, not drunks who molest you in front of the entire nation and knock your wig askew. I fight back a laugh at the sight of her pink curls now off-center state.

I look through the crowd and find Katniss. She's wearing a pretty blue dress she must have gotten from her mother; it is a merchant dress. Her hair is done up in an elaborate braid that almost must have come from her mother. Mrs. Everdeen is from a merchant family. When she married Mr. Everdeen, a miner from the Seam, she gave up everything to live with him. The Apothecary where she once worked with her parents no longer exists. Instead we bring all our injured to the Everdeen residence in the Seam.

Katniss turns and catches my eye. I can see that she is worried and the amusement I felt at Haymitch and Effie's encounter slips away. Despite everything, she still has twenty slips and I still have forty-two. Hers are average for a Seam kid, mine out-weigh everyone's. The odds are not in my favor. I turn away and can almost hear her saying "But there are still thousands of slips." I try to shake the feeling of dread that is steadily getting heavier.

"Ladies first!" Effie trills, as she always does. She crosses to the ball with the girl's names and reaches in, digging around a bit before pulling out a piece of paper. The square is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. My heart is pounding as I keep thinking and hoping that it's not Katniss. I glance over at her again and know she is chanting the same thing in her head.

Effie crosses back to the podium where the microphone is, smoothes out the paper, and reads out the name. I breathe in relief that it's not Katniss, then my heart clenches because it might as well be.

Effie Trinket has just read out Primrose Everdeen.

I look over at Katniss. She's in complete shock, struggling to breathe. I can see her mind whirling as she tries to figure out what she's done wrong. Prim had one slip in thousands. The odds _were _in her favor, yet she was chosen.

The crowd murmurs unhappily as they always do when a twelve year old gets chosen, because no one thinks this is fair. It's not fair. No twelve year old can go up against an eighteen year old and win. The twelve year olds usually don't make it past the first day. And this time it's not just any twelve year old: It's Prim Everdeen, the small blonde Seam girl that sells her goat's milk and cheese at a price Seam folk can occasionally afford. The girl that helps her mother mend our wounded back to health. Everyone loves Prim.

Prim passed through my field of vision, white as a sheet and hands clenched as she takes small, stiff steps towards the stage—towards her death. She leaves my vision and I see Katniss' eyes focus. I know what's coming, possibly before she does.

"Prim!" The strangled cry comes from her as she begins to move towards her sister. "Prim!" The other kids make a path, letting her get to her sister as soon as possible. She reaches Prim right before she can mount the steps, sweeping her behind herself. I force myself to move towards them, knowing what's coming.

"I volunteer!" Katniss gasps. Her words are like an arrow to my heart. "I volunteer as tribute!"

There's some confusion on the stage. District twelve hasn't had a volunteer in so long the protocol has become rusty. The official rule states that once a tribute's name has been pulled another eligible boy or girl can step forward to take the corresponding gender's place. In some districts winning is an honor and volunteering is complicated. But here in District 12, tribute might as well mean corpse, so volunteers are all but extinct.

"Lovely!" says Effie. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..." she trails off, not sure what happens then.

"What does it matter?" the mayor asks. He has a pained expression on his face. He doesn't know Katniss, but I'm sure he remembers her as the girl that sold him strawberries regularly. Maybe even as the girl his daughter occasionally talks about. Possibly even as the girl that, five years ago, he presented with a medal of valor since she was the oldest. A medal for her father who was vaporized in the mines with my father. "What does it matter?" he repeats gruffly. "Let her come forward."

Prim starts screaming hysterically. She's wrapped her arms around her older sister. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

"Prim, let go," I hear her say harshly. I've almost reached them. I know Katniss is fighting tears. Katniss does not cry, but Prim brings out emotions in her that no one else can. "Let go!"

Finally reaching them, I pull Prim off Katniss and lift her up so she's thrashing in my arms. I swallow hard. "Up you go, Catnip," I say, my voice less steady that I would have hoped. I take a deep breath and carry Prim off toward her mother. Behind me I hear Katniss mounting the steps.

"Well, bravo!" gushes Effie. "That's the spirit of the games!" She's pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it. "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," Katniss says. I've almost reached Mrs. Everdeen, who is standing at the ropes shell-shocked. I'm not surprised. After her husband died she all but slipped away, leaving eleven year old Katniss to take care of her little sister. She's not a strong person, and almost losing her youngest, only to have her oldest volunteer, is pushing her back towards that place. I vow to keep an extra eye on Prim, just in case.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" trills Effie. I want to punch her. Steal all the glory? More like wants to keep her alive. I pass Prim over to her mother and turn around.

No one is clapping. No one is cheering. Not even the ones holding betting slips are making a sound. Everyone knows Katniss. Whether they know her from the Hob, or knew her father, or know Prim, or have gone to see her mother, everyone knows her. She stands there, slightly uncomfortable as we all take part in the boldest form of dissent we can: Silence. Silence says we do not agree. We do not condone. This is wrong.

Without thinking I touch my three middle fingers to my lips and hold them out to her. Prim and her mother copy me. Then, one after another, the entire district follow suit. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

I can see Katniss is extremely close to crying. I know she wouldn't have expected it. She never seems to realize how important she is to people. Before the tears get too close to spilling over, Haymitch staggers across the stage to congratulate her.

"Look at her. Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around her shoulders. I flinch, hating that he would dare touch my Catnip in such a familiar way. "I like her! Lots of..." while he thinks of a word a Peacekeeper prods me towards the eighteen year olds where I'm going to have to stand and most likely be called. "Spunk!" Haymitch says triumphantly. "More than you!" He lets go of Katniss and heads to the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing at the cameras.

Back in my place, I wonder if he's addressing the audience or if he's actually crazy enough to be taunting the Capitol. We never find out because as he opens his mouth to continue, he plummets off the stage and knocks himself out.

Everyone is watching him, but I'm watching Katniss. I see her body shudder once, her mouth open just a bit. I can almost hear the choking sound she must have made. Then she puts her hands behind her back and stares into the distance.

As Haymitch is taken away on a stretcher, Effie tries to get everything in order again.

"What an exciting day!" she warbles, trying to straighten out her wig. If Katniss wasn't the one standing on that stage I might have laughed inwardly at her state: the wig has twisted severely to the right. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She places one hand on her head, probably to keep her wig from falling off, and crosses to the glass ball containing the boys names. Her fingers close around a slip and I just know my name is on it. I'm going to have to go into the arena with my best friend and most likely watch her die. I'm not sure how I'm standing anymore, or functioning at all. I wish Katniss had agreed to run away with me this morning, but I know she would have never forgiven herself if it had caused Prim to die, for no one else would have volunteered.

Effie crosses back to the podium faster than I've ever seen her move. I close my eyes and try and prepare myself to stand on the stage next to Katniss.

"Peeta Mellark," Effie reads. My eyes fly open. Not me. I can't believe it. I, with forty-two slips, have survived the reaping. Prim, with one, was chosen. My eyes are once again trained on Katniss. She looks distressed. I wonder why she would be so upset that this Peeta Mellark was chosen. Does she know him? Are they friends? If so, why haven't I ever seen them together? Why has she never mentioned him to me? Jealousy surges through me as I take in the kid. Medium height, stocky build, ashy blond hair. The baker's youngest son. I take a deep breath. She must have met him a few times trading at the bakery. But why would she look so upset with him being chosen? Does she like him?

Effie asks for volunteers and I briefly contemplate speaking up, but I know I can't. I could try to protect Katniss in the arena, but the likely hood of one of us surviving would be slim to none. Our families can't afford to lose both their providers. Katniss might be able to survive if she gets a bow—and if she had a decent mentor. A tributes mentor gets them sponsors, which in turn gets them money for gifts to survive the arena and put them ahead. District 12 never seems to have any sponsors, but then, who would want to work with Haymitch? Even if he was trying?

The mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point—it's required. I don't listen but instead stare at Katniss trying to figure out why Peeta Mellark means so much to her. A memory pulls at me, a story she told me once, years ago, when she finally decided to trust me and I remember. Peeta Mellark is the boy who gave her hope again when all hope was lost. The boy who saved her from dying of starvation in his back yard under an apple tree. She owes him her life. In the Seam, owing someone is a big deal. Debt is always paid off, no matter how hard it is or how long it takes and Katniss is still in Peeta's debt. I curse to myself, hoping with every fiber of my being she doesn't decide to pay him back by helping him survive the arena. It's selfish and horrible of me to wish death upon a boy I barely know, but I can't stand the thought of Katniss dying and never coming home to me. I know she stands a chance, as long as she doesn't let this boy get in her way. I make a mental note to get Prim to promise her she'll come home. Katniss would never break a promise to Prim or deny her anything. If she promises Prim she'll come home, she'll do everything in her power to come home. Her love for Prim outweighs any debt she might own some merchant kid. I breathe slightly easier.

The mayor finishes the treaty and motions for Katniss and Peeta to shake hands. They look each other in the eye and shake hands then turn back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.

The anthem ends and Katniss and Peeta are taken into custody. Though they are not handcuffed, they might as well be. Peacekeepers escort them into the Justice Building where they will have an hour to say good-bye to family and friends. I reach the building just as Prim and Mrs. Everdeen are about to enter Katniss' room.

"Prim!" I say. She turns to me. "You have to make Katniss promise to come home. She wouldn't dare break a promise to you."

Prim looks up at me, her blue eyes swimming with tears. "Of course I'm going to," she says, giving me a look that clearly says I'm crazy. She follows her mother into the room. I stand outside, waiting. I try not to think about the last time I was in this building, receiving my medal of valor for my father's death.

Mr. Mellark comes out of Peeta's room and faces Katniss' door.

"I'll help you keep the little girl fed," he says.

"Thank you," I say. I never knew he cared so much about Prim.

"Do you mind if I go first?" he asks. I shake my head. The Peacekeepers bring out Prim and Mrs. Everdeen and Mr. Mellark enters.

Prim comes over and gives me a hug. "She swore she would try her hardest to win."

I hug her back. "She'll come back to us," I say. Mrs. Everdeen takes her hand and leads her out the door. To my surprise, Madge Undersee comes rushing in.

"I have to see her. Just a second," she says to me, breathless. "I promise I won't be long." I nod. Both relieved and upset. The more people that go in before me the less time I have with Katniss, but I'm not ready to say good-bye yet. I have no idea what I'm going to say. I only know this may be my last chance to tell her how I feel and I can't wimp out now.

Mr. Mellark comes out and Madge rushes in. She comes out within minutes. Her eyes catch mine and I'm surprised to see she's crying. Maybe I underestimated her after all. She seems genuinely upset over Katniss leaving.

Finally it's my turn. I walk in and open my arms to her. Thankfully she doesn't hesitate and I wrap my arms around her. She feels just as wonderful as I imagined—more so. She smells of soap, but underneath I can pick up the smell of woods and Katniss herself. I feel her heart beating against mine and press my face into her hair for a split second. I'm wasting time.

"Listen," I say. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance." Why am I talking strategies? I have more important things to tell her. Now is not the time to listen to my nerves. There is no later.

"They don't always have bows," she says. That's true. One year they had these horrible spiked maces that tributes had to bludgeon one another to death with.

"Then make one," I say. "Even a weak bow is better than no bow at all."

"I don't even know if there'll be wood," she says. I try not to show my frustration. How dare she be giving up already?

"There's almost always wood," I say. "Since that year half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment in that."

That was a horrible year. We could hardly see them because they were just huddled into balls with no fires or torches or anything. It was considered very anticlimactic in the Capitol, all those quiet, bloodless deaths.

"Yes, there's usually some," she says. Finally, a bit of hope.

"Katniss, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know," I say.

"It's not just hunting. They're armed. They think," she says. I want to yell at her, shake her, force her to stop giving up and fight. Instead I force myself to stay calm.

"So do you. And you've had more practice. Real practice," I say. "You know how to kill."

"Not people," she says. I grit my teeth.

"How different can it be, really?" I say grimly.

The Peacekeepers come back. I ask for more time, but since they're not Darius, who we know from the Hob, or the Head Peacekeeper, Cray, who we sell wild turkeys to, but strange peacekeepers from the Capitol, they deny me. I try to hold onto Katniss, committing the feel of her in my arms to my memory. She starts to panic. "Don't let them starve!" she cries, clinging to my hand.

"I won't! You know I won't! Katniss, remember I—" they yank me away and slam the door shut. "—love you!" I shout at the now closed door. I slump against it. "I love you. I'll be waiting for you. I believe in you." I whisper against the door, knowing she won't hear me. Knowing I probably just missed my last chance. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The Peacekeepers lead me back outside where my mom finally finds me. She warps her arms around me, crying tears of both joy and sorrow. I know she's ecstatic that I have survived the Hunger Games reapings and that Rory has survived his first reaping, but Katniss is family to us. Tonight there will be three families with their windows drawn shut and their doors locked.

The screens are back on. Katniss and Peeta are at the train station, ready to depart. This is the last time we will see them until the opening ceremonies. This is the last time I will see Katniss looking like my Catnip, before the stylists get a hold of her and turn her into someone from the Capitol. The doors shut and the trains leave. I'm still fighting for my breath and forcing the tears back.

Posy takes my hand and leads me home. I sit down on the couch, trying to come to terms with what has happened. She crawls into my lap and hugs me.

"It's okay, Gale," she says. "Katniss will come home." I hold onto Posy and cry for the first time since my father died. There are twenty-four tributes, only one comes out. I know the likely hood of Katniss coming home is next to nothing.

There is a knock on the door; my mother opens the door to Prim and Mrs. Everdeen. They are carrying a stew, the bread and the strawberries. My mother lets them in without a word. We are all family tonight. Prim puts the bread and strawberries on the table along with some goat cheese and joins me and Posy on the couch.

"She'll come home, Gale," Prim says. "She has to."


	2. Chapter 2

**Story:** Gale's Hunger Games

**By:** Pigy190

**Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games and all characters and words (including the ones copied for this story) belong to Suzanne Collins. No copy right infringement is intended. This story is purely for fun and fan fiction.

**Summary: **The Hunger Games (Book One) from Gale's Point of view. Follows the book and uses all of the same dialogue. *Non-Peeta bashing*

**A/N:** Okay, Okay, I know I suck at updating quickly. Life kinda happened and then I realized that I haven't updated in over a month... O.O Things will start moving more quickly once I get into the games.

**A/N 2:** So I had this chapter beta'd. And then my fiance came home (he's military and was overseas) and we went up to visit his parents (I'd never met them), so I haven't really been able to write. Hopefully that will change and I'll have chapter three written and beta'd by next week.

**Chapter 2**

The Opening Ceremonies are tonight. I'm not ready for this. I've spent the whole day hunting, but the reapings keep relaying in my head. The couple from District 1, especially the girl, Glimmer; the couple from District 2, Clove and Cato, the latter of which is a monstrous boy who lunged forward to volunteer; a fox-faced girl from District 5 who looks extremely cunning; a boy with a crippled foot from District 10; a little girl from District 11, Rue, who is no older than Prim, but no one volunteered for her; the huge boy from District 11, Thresh, who looks like he could easily live up to his name; and worst of all, Katniss. Watching the re-run was numbing. It almost seemed as if it happened to different people. Not me and Katniss.

I close my eyes and imagine she's standing next to me, silent, waiting for game to come by. But it's too silent and I can't even pretend she's here. If she were, I would be able to hear her heart beat.

The sun is close to setting by the time I make it back to the fence. Because I've been out all day, I have a larger haul than usual. I go by the Everdeen house first to see what they need so I can trade for the right items. Mrs. Everdeen gives me a list and I head for the Hob.

In the Hob, everyone I pass gives me a sympathetic look. I grit my teeth and head for Greasy Sae's stall.

"Ignore them, Gale," she says. "They'll be eating their whispered words when Katniss wins."

"I brought you some wild dog," I answer, ignoring her as well. I don't want to talk about Katniss; not in such a public place. Rumors spread quickly in District 12, especially rumors about Hunger Games Tributes and/or champions.

Thankfully Greasy Sae accepts the change in subject without question. She buys the wild dog for more than I expected. It's her way of helping me out, knowing I have to pick up the slack for Katniss being gone.

"I'm going to start a collection," Greasy Sae says as I turn to leave. "So we can send Katniss something in the arena."

I nod and walk away stiffly. I should have expected it; everyone liked Katniss, even if she didn't know it.

The rest of my trading goes just as easily. Now that I'm alone – and making up for Katniss' absence – people are willing to over pay or accept deals that aren't in their favor. It annoys me to no end, but I accept it none the less, because without Katniss we can use the extra money and food. By the end of my trading I have more meat left over than I originally thought I would. I hurry back to the Everdeens. I have to get back home before the Ceremonies start. It's a requirement to watch every part of the Hunger Games broadcast until the tributes go into the arena. Then if you go to work or school, you are allowed to miss those times, but everyone must watch the recaps of the day each evening. They also keep the games running in each classroom at the schools during breaks, so that we miss as little as possible of their precious games. I'm sure they would play them during class, but they want us to learn our jobs so we can serve them better. It's revolting. No matter what we can't escape the Capitol and their madness. Not until a rebellion happens.

Mrs. Everdeen and Prim are waiting for me, ready to go. They quickly put away the things I've traded for them before we hurry to my house. My mom is waiting for us when we get there. She and Mrs. Everdeen finish prepping the meager meal for tonight.

Posy comes into the kitchen. "It's time."

I swallow hard and follow my family out the door to the square. We don't have to sign in this time, but the Peacekeepers will be checking houses again tonight.

In the square everyone stares at us and the Mellarks. Mrs. Everdeen leads us over to them. She knew them when she was younger.

"Mrs. Everdeen, Mrs. Hawthorne, kids," Mr. Mellark greets us. Mrs. Mellark glares at me.

"Mr. Mellark," we answer as one.

The Seal of Panem comes on the screens and the national anthem cuts off any further conversation. President Snow comes on, welcoming us to the 74th Hunger Games. I don't listen to his speech, worried to death over what Katniss will be wearing. Each tribute will be wearing something to represent his or her district. A few years ago the tributes from District 12 were stark naked and covered in black powder to represent coal dust. It was a break from the usual skimpy outfits and hats with headlamps, but I don't think I could deal well with Katniss being in either of those. Of course, I'm still not sure how I'm going to survive the next few weeks. I take a breath and prepare myself for whatever comes as the doors open and the tributes from District 1 appear.

They look beautiful, as always: spray-painted silver, in tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. They are the richest district, providing luxury items for the Capitol.

District 2, the masonry district, wears what is supposed to be a mason's outfit, but looks more like something someone would wearing in the bedroom to entice their significant other. I fight the urge to cover Prim's and Posy's eyes as usual.

District 3, who provide Panem's technology, comes out looking like some sort of spray-painted robots.

District 4, whoose industry is fishing, comes out wearing nets and fish.

District 5, who produce Panem's power, comes out looking like lightning bolts.

District 6 builds transportation for Panem and its tributes look like they're supposed to be a cross between humans and cars.

District 7, Panem's lumber providers, is trees, as the tributes have been every year for as long as I can remember.

District 8, whose industry is textiles, comes out wearing what looks like pieces of cloth glued to them.

District 9, Panem's grain producers, come out looking like stalks of grain. They are stark naked, painted, with their hair done up as the tops.

District 10 makes me laugh. They provide Panem's livestock. They are wearing next to nothing and painted as cows.

District 11 makes it hard to breathe again. The little girl that reminds me of Prim is dressed as an apple. Her partner is dressed as some sort of grain stalk.

Prim grabs my hand. We see the coal black horses coming out. They seem to be going in slow motion. People begin to scream because Katniss and Peeta are on fire. My knees nearly give out on me. I wasn't expecting to see her die yet.

Then the cheering starts. I shake my head to clear the layer of despair that's come over me and look up again. Katniss is smiling and waving. She and Peeta are dressed in black leotards and black boots. They each wear a flaming cape and headpiece. They are the only District wearing identical outfits. And they are holding hands.

My heart stops. Why is she holding his hand? Did they form some sort of relationship in the day since they left District 12? It's always been obvious that Peeta has a thing for Katniss, anyone who ever saw the way he stared at her knew that. But Katniss? Katniss doesn't notice boys, does she? Or did she just not notice me? Did I not notice her growing up and noticing him?

As Katniss starts blowing kisses at the crowd I start wondering if she's completely insane. When she catches a rose, smells it, and blows a kiss in the direction it came from I know she is. Then she looks directly at the camera and blows a kiss. I pretend like it's for me, even though I know it's not.

"She looks amazing," Prim says in a hushed tone. She's right. Katniss's face glows in the twilight. Her face has very little make-up and her hair is in its usual braid. I'm thankful to her stylist for not turning her into someone from the Capitol. Of course, he or she may still do that.

"They'll definitely get sponsors," Rory says, grinning at Prim. I wonder if I'm missing something. Has my younger brother been taken by the youngest Everdeen girl? I make a mental note to keep an eye on them.

The twelve chariots finally make it to the City Circle, filling the loop and coming to a halt in front of the President's Mansion.

The President, a small, thin man with paper-white hair, gives the official welcome from his balcony. Usually the cameras cut away from the tributes and focus on the President during his speech, but the cameras are focused on Katniss and Peeta. The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off their flickering. When the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a quick cut around to each pair of tributes, but the camera holds on the District 12 chariot as it parades around the circle one final time and disappears into the Training Center.

My heart drops to the floor. That is the last time I will see her for the next week. Tributes live in the Training Center for a week to get ready for the games. During that week we go back to school and work as normal. Our short vacation is over. During the ending Ceremonies, during which the winner tours the districts, we will have another break.

Now that the tributes are gone, they interview the sponsors, escorts, stylists, and mentors. Various people comment on Peeta and Katniss. Effie Trinket says some nonsense about putting pressure on coal and it turning to pearls. District 12 laughs, but the sponsors and interviewers seem to take her seriously.

Katniss's stylist, Cinna, is nothing like I imagined he would be. Instead of the usual overly made-up or surgically altered appearance, he has close cut dark hair that looks natural and just a bit of gold eye-liner.

The interviewer trills on about how wonderful the outfits were and what a impact District 12 made at the Opening Ceremonies. Then she says, "So you're new to the games. How do you feel about being stuck with District 12?"

Amazingly, Cinna only looks slightly annoyed. "I asked for District 12," he says. She tries to get more out of him, but he just talks about how amazing he thinks "The Girl on Fire" will be in the games.

When the interviews are finally over, we are dismissed to go home and eat dinner and celebrate. Prim and Posy hold hands and skip home. Even my mother and Mrs. Everdeen are cheered up by the impression Katniss made in the Opening Ceremonies, but I can't help but notice that Haymitch wasn't there to be interviewed. While all the other mentors were around talking up their tributes to sponsors, Haymitch was off somewhere else, probably getting drunk.

All throughout dinner everyone talks about how amazing Katniss was. It's a complete 180 from last night's depressing meal. I keep to myself and resist the urge to point out that they still have the scores to get through and sponsors aren't 100% yet. The worst moment for me is when Vick brings up Katniss and Peeta holding hands.

"I don't understand," he says. "They're going to go fight each other. Why present them as a team? Why have them _hold hands_?"

"To put on a show," Prim answers. "This whole thing is a show for the Capitol. Playing along gets you through alive. Katniss promised she'd come back, so she has to play their game and entertain them."

"So you don't think it's 'cause she likes him?" Posy asks.

Prim shakes her head. "No, Katniss likes someone else," she says with a pointed look at me.

I look down at my food, my face burning. "Katniss isn't interested in boys or marriage," I mumble.

Prim and Mrs. Everdeen snort. "Sure," Prim says.

Dinner finishes soon after. We all pitch in to clean up and Mrs. Everdeen and Prim get ready to leave. My mom takes Posy, Rory, and Vick to get ready for bed and I walk the Everdeens to the door.

To my complete surprise Mrs. Everdeen turns to me and says, "She may not have realized it, but Katniss is in love with you."

I stand in the door way, mouth gaping, until my mother calls me inside to help her.

Once Posy, Rory, and Vick are in bed, I start to get ready. Before I can go into the room I share with Vick and Rory, my mom stops me.

"You'll have to go to the mines soon," she says.

"Once the games are over," I answer, trying to keep all emotion out of my voice. I'm not sure if my anger or despair would win, if I let either of them show.

She comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're a good man, Gale. Your father would be proud." Then she disappears into her and Posy's room.

I shake my head and slip into the room I share with Rory and Vick. Katniss being in the games is making everyone behave strangely.

- [break] -

I drum my fingers on the table as we wait for the Everdeens. My mom shoots me a disapproving look.

"Go check on Rory and Vick since you're already ready," she says straightening the bow in Posy's hair.

I sigh and walk to our room. Rory and Vick are still changing. "Hurry up," I tell them. "Prim and Mrs. Everdeen will be here any second."

Right on cue there is a knock on the door. I hear my mom greet Mrs. Everdeen and Prim.

"Boys! Time to go!" My mother calls. I rush into the kitchen, followed closely by Rory and Vick. Prim gives me a hug. "Let's go! We don't want to be late!" my mother fusses. She shoves me out the door. We make it to the square in time for the national anthem. Mrs. Everdeen is looking around frantically. Suddenly she waves and grabs Prim's arm. Now she's pulling her towards the Mellarks. I curse in my head. I really don't like bread-boy's family, well, except the baker. I only like him because he buys my squirrels.

The national anthem ends and President Snow comes on. Usually at this point I would look at Katniss and zone out during the speech, making fun of Snow through silent expressions that only the two of us understood. Today, I stand rigidly, hands clenched into fists, still not listening to his speech.

Scores are really only important if they're high. No one pays attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy. But everyone knows District 12 is awful. No one would believe a low score from District 12 is a person trying to hide their talents. We don't usually make it past the first day.

Snow finishes talking and they start with the scores. First they show a photo of the tribute, then flash their score below it. The Career Tributes naturally get in the eight-to-ten range. Most of the other tributes average a five. Surprisingly, Rue, the little twelve-year-old girl from District 11, gets a seven. Peeta pulls an eight.

I release a bit of the breath I've been holding. If Bread-boy can come up with an eight, Katniss can do at least as good if not better.

Katniss's picture comes up and I hold my breath again. I squeeze my eyes shut, not sure I can handle the score.

Around me I hear cheering. My eyes snap open.

Eleven. They're flashing an eleven. Katniss has gotten the highest score of any tribute. The highest score I've ever seen.

Prim tackles me, nearly knocking me over. "She's going to make it! She's going to make it!" she screams in my ear. I hug her back, still in shock.

I look up and see Mrs. Everdeen wearing the same expression I feel on my face. Happiness mixed with disbelief and terror. An eleven might mean she's going to get sponsors like crazy, but it also makes her the prime target for every other tribute.

They take Katniss's picture off the screen and interview a few people to get their opinions on the scores. I'm, once again, not paying attention. I keep seeing Katniss's face with an eleven flashing below it.

Mrs. Mellark is glaring at Mrs. Everdeen with a mixture of envy and anger. Mr. Mellark just looka sad.

My mom comes up to me and starts guiding me back toward the house. People come up and congratulate Mrs. Everdeen and Prim as we pass them.

Madge catches my eye and flashes me a relieved smile. I try to return it, but the image of Katniss facing some of the huge tributes stops me. "Tomorrow," she mouths.

I have no idea what she means and let myself be led home. My mom forces me to sit down and puts a bowl of food in front of me. "Eat."

I force myself to eat while everyone chatters around me about how great Katniss did and tries to figure out what she could have done. She must have shown them exactly how well she could shoot. Suddenly I'm sure there won't be a bow and arrow in the arena. It'd be too easy for her to pick off all the tributes.

Dinner is over quickly and the Everdeen's head home. The interviews are in two days. Tomorrow is Sunday, so we will have a day of rest before the excitement of the interviews followed by the tributes going into the arena. We go to bed earlier than usual. We will get Tuesday off to watch them go into the arena.

I lie in bed for hours, Katniss's picture and the eleven flashing behind my eyelids.

I'm up before dawn, heading into the woods. It's Sunday, my day to stock up for the week, though I hardly need to considering how biased people have been trading. I wake up Rory to take him with me. It'll be good to train a new partner, just in case.

Rory mutters under his breath as I drag him into the

Rory mutters under his breath as I drag him into the woods. I hand him a knife and the small bow I first saw Katniss with all those years ago.

We hunt and gather in silence for a few hours before Rory finally brings up the topic plaguing both our minds. "So, an eleven," he says.

"There's room for improvement there," I answer with a smile, thinking of Katniss's expression if I said that to her. She'd respond to my smile with one of her own, but her eyes would be giving me a look that clearly states "I'd like to see you do better."

Rory laughs. "Do you think she'll make it?"

I sigh. "If she can get away from the Careers that are now going to be determined to kill her first and get a bow, yes."

"You think they'll go after her first?" he asks.

"She scored the highest, Ror, what do you think?" I answer.

"I think she can make it," he tells me. "She'll come home for Prim. For you."

"Yeah," I say. If Katniss comes home it will be for Prim, not me. I'm not even sure if I believe she's thought about me. I hope she has, but she's Katniss. She doesn't waste time thinking about unnecessary things such as missing someone. She'll be too busy focusing on how to get home.

My late afternoon we have enough game to be able to trade for everything we need this week. Since I can't start in the mines until this school year ends, I'll be able to check my snares after school the way I always did with Katniss.

We head home. I check the fence for electricity and look around for people before we slip under the fence and into the Meadow. We've just crossed the Meadow when Madge comes rushing up to us.

"Gale," she says slightly out of breath.

"Rory, take the meat to the Everdeens then head home. I'll meet you there after I go to the Hob," I tell him. Rory nods and hurries off.

I turn to Madge. "Madge."

"She shot an arrow at the Gamemakers," Madge says without preamble.

My mouth drops open. "_What?_" I asked in complete shock.

"To get the eleven," Madge says. "She shot an arrow at the Gamemakers. Speared the apple right out of the pig's mouth."

"So she shot at the apple," I say. If Katniss shot the apple out of the pig's mouth, that's where she was aiming.

"Yes," Madge says. "But you can't tell anyone. You're not supposed to know. _I_ am not supposed to know."

"How do you know?" I ask.

"They told my father," she answers. "I happened to be outside the room at the time. Usually they don't talk about what happened inside the training rooms, not even to the Mayors, but they were so impressed with Katniss's daring that they told my father." She looks past me into the woods. "I just thought you would want to know. I know you're her...friend."

The way she says "friend" makes me uncomfortable. "I'm pretty sure you and I are her only friends," I tell her.

Madge nods. "Well, I'll let you go on."

I give her a close lipped smile. "Thanks."

She nods again and then disappears off down the road.

At the Hob, everyone congratulates me. I'm not sure why they congratulate me, I'm not the one that scored an eleven, Katniss is. I'm not the one that taught her to shoot, she taught me.

Once again, people trade with me in my favor and not theirs. Even the butcher pays me more than usual, but you don't argue with her.

I head home with more money that I'm used to. I stop by the Everdeens to give them some. Mrs. Everdeen thanks me.

That evening, supper is a quiet affair. Rory must have said something to my family about how I reacted in the woods. I don't really care.

Thank night I help my mom prepare the food for storage before we go to bed. It's a long, silent process. Usually I do this with Katniss in the backyard.

When I finally go to bed, Madge's words run through my head. _"She shot an arrow at the Gamemakers."_ Only my Catnip would do something so stupid yet amazing. I finally drift off, thinking of her coming to me again.

The sun has come up by the time I get up in the morning. Rory kicks me out of bed as revenge for me waking him up yesterday morning.

We eat breakfast and head to school. The interviews are tonight. But since they're not until the evening, there is no reason for us not to go to school. Our short lived holiday is over. The Capitol needs its coal after all.

School passes by in a blur. I'm still not sure how they can stretch learning about coal over twelve years.

After school, we head home to get ready for the interviews. Today we're going to the Everdeens for supper. We head out early, carrying our share of the food.

At the Everdeens my heart starts hammering. This is the first time I've been inside since Katniss left. I have been doing all of my dropping off in the most literal sense, afraid to go inside, where the absence of Katniss will be unavoidable. My mother gives me no choice and pushes me through the door. Immediately my eyes go to the bedroom, waiting for Katniss to emerge. She doesn't. Prim does.

Prim meets my eyes, knowing who I am looking for. I see my pain reflected in her. Katniss wanted to protect her innocent little sister, but after these games, Prim won't be innocent anymore. Being put through this leaves no innocence.

We head towards the square without a word. No one has anything to say now. The pros of Katniss's score have been bled dry.

Once in the square, Mrs. Everdeen pulls us over to the Mellarks. I'm really getting tired of this tradition. I don't want to continue standing with the family of the boy that, starting tomorrow, is Katniss's enemy.

As usual, conversation is impossible as the the Panem Seal and the national anthem come on. The Seal fades away to reveal a stage with twenty-four chairs in a big arch. The tributes file onto the stage one-by-one, starting, as always, with District 1 and ending with District 12.

All the tributes are wearing something flashy in the color of their district. It works fairly well, since any color can become flashy if done right. Though flashy also means revealing in many cases.

They show the tributes and then flash to the stylists as the crowd goes wild. The tributes pass in a blur until Katniss comes on screen. She is wearing a dress made entirely of jewels. Red,, yellow and white with bits of blue that accent the tips of the flame design. Her skin shimmers and with every step she gives the impression she is engulfed in flames. She looks gorgeous, but she no longer looks like my Katniss. They show her stylist, Cinna, who gives a wave and a smile before they flash to Peeta. He is wearing a suit that matches Katniss's dress. They flash to Portia, Peeta's stylist and then pan out to view the whole stage.

My eyes are gluef to Katniss until Caesar Flickerman, the man who has hosted the interviews for more than forty years, bounces onto the stage. Caesar freaks me out. His appearance has been virtually unchanged during all that time. Same face under a coating of pure white makeup. Same hairstyle that he dyes a different color for each Hunger Games. Same ceremonial suit, midnight blue dotted with a thousand tiny electrical bulbs that twinkle like stars. They do surgery in the Capitol to make people appear younger and thinner. In District 12, looking old is something of an achievement since so many people die early. You see an elderly person, you want to congratulate them on their longevity, ask the secret of survival. A plump person is envied because they aren't scraping by like the majority of us. But there it is different. Wrinkles aren't desirable. A round belly isn't a sign of success.

This year, Caesar's hair is powder blue and his eyelids and lips are coated in the same hue. He looks freakish but less frightening than he did last year when his color was crimson and he seemed to be bleeding. Katniss and I spent quite a bit of time making fun of him.

Caesar tells a few jokes to warm up the audience but then gets down to business.

The girl tribute from District 1, looking provocative in a see-through gold gown, steps up to the center of the stage to join Caesar for her interview.

Each interview only lasts three minutes. Then a buzzer goes off and the next tribute is up. Though he may be a bit freakish, Caesar really does his best to make the tributes shine. He's friendly, tries to set the nervous ones at ease, laughs at lame jokes, and can turn a weak response into a memorable one by the way he reacts.

Katniss sits stiffly, in a way that reminds me of Effie. Few tributes stick in my mind. The monstrous boy from District 2 is presented as a ruthless killing machine. The fox-faced girl from District 5 is presented as sly and elusive. And of course, Rue, who is dressed in a gossamer gown complete with wings. As she flutters her way down to Caesar, a hush falls over the crowd. Caesar's very sweet with her, complimenting her seven in training, an excellent score for one so small. When he asks her what her greatest strength in the arena will be, she doesn't hesitate. "I'm very hard to catch," she says in a tremulous voice. "And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."

"I wouldn't in a million years," says Caesar encouragingly. I secretly hope someone kills her before she meets up with Katniss. I know Katniss could never kill her.

The boy tribute from District 11 doesn't say much. But it doesn't matter, because I wouldn't have listened to him anyways. Katniss is up next. The buzzer rings. Thresh walks off to his seat. They call Katniss.

Katniss gets up and walks towards Caesar and shakes his hand.

"So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?" asks Caesar. Katniss stares at him for a few seconds. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, waiting to hear her voice again.

"The lamb stew," she says finally. I grimace. Though Caesar and the Capitol audience laugh, District 12 doesn't. We can only wish to someday eat food half as rich as they have in the Capitol.

"The one with the dried plums?" ask Caesar. Katniss just nods. "Oh, I eat it by the bucketful." He turns sideways to the audience and camera in horror, hand on his stomach. "It doesn't show does it?" I grit my teeth until the audience shouts reassurances to him and applause. He's only helping Katniss out, he's really not a bad guy. It's not his fault he was born to a Capitol family instead of a District 12 family.

"Now, Katniss," he says, "When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of that costume?" I lean towards the screen slightly, not wanting to miss a single word she says. It's the first time in my life I've actually paid attention to the Hunger Games beyond making sure I can answer the Peacekeepers questions should the wonder if I watched.

Katniss looks towards the stylists. She must like Cinna a lot to be answering to him more than Caesar. "You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?" She asks.

Even District 12 laughs now.

"Yes. Start then," says Caesar.

"I thought Cinna was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous costume I'd ever seen and I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this, either." She lifts up her skirt to spread it out. "I mean, look at it."

I am looking. All of Panem is looking at how gorgeous she looks. Finally she is wearing something that makes the fire inside her show on the outside. The whole world now sees inside her without knowing it.

The audience _oohs_ and _aahs_ and suddenly Katniss spins in a circle. I gasp. The audience roars in pleasure. She looks even more breathtaking.

"Oh, do it again!" says Caesar, and so Katniss lifts up her arms and spins around and around letting the skirt fly out, letting the dress engulf her in flames. The audience cheers. When she finally stops, she clutches Caesar's arm.

"Don't stop," he says.

"I have to, I'm dizzy!" She giggles. I stare at the screen in shock. Katniss Everdeen does not giggle. Katniss Everdeen rarely even smiles, yet there she is wearing a beautiful Capitol dress, clutching Caesar Flickerman's arm, giggling.

Caesar wraps an arm around her. I growl. "Don't worry, I've got you. Can't have you following in your mentor's footsteps."

The crowd hoots as the cameras find Haymitch, who is by now famous for his head dive at the reaping, and he waves them away good-naturedly and points back to Katniss.

"It's all right," Caesar reassures the crowd. "She's safe with me. So, how about that training score. Eleven. Give us a hint what happened in there." I swallow, not daring to take my eyes off the screen. Caesar might be dying to know how she got it, but I already know. Katniss is an amazing marksman. Even the butcher is amazed by her skills.

On screen Katniss glances off screen and bites her lip. "Um...all I can say is that it was a first."

The cameras flash to the Gamemakers, who are chuckling and nodding. Now I'm interested as well. Being a good shot is one thing, causing the Gamemakers to react like this is another.

"You're killing us," says Caesar as if in actual pain. "Details. Details."

Katniss keeps her eyes on what I'm guessing is the Gamemakers. "I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?"

One of the game makers shouts out, "She's not!" I'll have to ask her about it when she comes back. I swallow hard, knowing good and well that she might not come back.

"Thank you," says Katniss. "Sorry. My lips are sealed." Not to me. Not unless. I shake my head and turn back to the screen.

"Let's go back then, to the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping," says Caesar. His mood is quieter now. "And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"

I doubt Caesar or the Capitol crowd sees the pain flash across her features, but I catch it. Prim grabs my hand and I know she saw it as well. "Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything."

Everyone is silent. I can hear Prim sniffling beside me.

"What did she say to you? After the reaping?" Caesar asks.

I watch Katniss swallow hard, another movement I'm sure they all miss. Prim is squeezing my hand so hard that it's beginning to hurt. For such a small person she sure is strong. "She asked me to try really hard to win."

"And what did you say?" prompts Caesar gently.

Katniss tenses the way she does before a kill. When she speaks, her voice has dropped an octave. "I swore I would." A shiver runs down my back.

"I bet you did," says Caesar. The buzzer goes off. "Sorry we're out of time. Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen, tribute from District Twelve."

The applause continues long after she's seated. I'm glad, because it keeps the cameras trained on her even longer. Eventually, the applause dies down and they call Peeta Mellark. I don't really pay attention to him, but instead watch Katniss in the background. She seems to be in some sort of daze. Peeta has the audience laughing from the get-go. He plays up the baker's son thing, comparing the tributes to the breads from their districts. "That's my boy," says Mr. Mellark. I roll my eyes.

Then he has a funny anecdote about the perils of the Capitol showers. "Tell me, do I still smell like roses?" he asks Caesar, and then there's a whole run where they take turns sniffing each other that brings down the house. I start zoning out again. Caesar asks him if he has a girlfriend back home.

Peeta hesitates, then gives an unconvincing shake of his head.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" says Caesar.

Peeta sighs. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

Sounds of sympathy from the crowd. I try and think back if I've seen him looking at any girls in the school yard. The only one I can think of is Katniss. No.

"She have another fellow?" asks Caesar. Yeah. Me.

"Gale," Prim whispers.

I realize I'm squeezing her hand, probably hurting her. "Sorry," I mutter.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta.

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" says Caesar encouragingly.

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning... won't help in my case," says Peeta.

"No," gasps Prim. I wish I had thought of slugging him in the face before he left. One of those times I saw him staring at Katniss in the school yard.

"Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified.

Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. "Because... because... she came here with me."

I wish I was in the arena, so I could personally kill him. Prim tries to hold onto my hand, but I rip away from her. I turn from the square and rush through the Seam until I get to the fence. Darius and Cray both see me, but neither tries to stop me. I get to the fence and slip underneath, grabbing my bow as I pass the log. Before I know it I'm at our rock. I sit down, but it feels too empty without Katniss there.

Her absence is the final straw. I start to cry. I should have told her how I felt when I had the chance, now, no matter what I do, I can't top Peeta telling her in front of all of Panem.

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><p><strong>AN:** Please review! Reviews help me write faster.


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